


A Just and Proper Interpretation

by SylvanAuctor



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Languages and Linguistics, Needles, Original Character(s), Other, Re-Education, Religion, Shis'urna, Valskaay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-10-14 13:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10536975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylvanAuctor/pseuds/SylvanAuctor
Summary: Kuenr Deacht is a member of the powerful Translators’ Office of the Imperial Radch. Six months into the annexation of Shis’urna, she is sent to Ors to aid the new administration, documenting the local dialect for surveillance and diplomacy. During her scientific mission, she learns about the struggles of annexation for Radchaai and Orsians alike.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translator Kuenr Deacht arrives in the city of Ors, six months into the Radchaai annexation of Shis'urna.

“So tell me, Translator, how does a reeducator of cultists become a field linguist? Quite a stark jump.”

“Begging your pardon, Captain, but I left for reasons that are sufficient to me. And besides, I hardly find the details proper teatime conversation.” I took a deep drink of my tea to redirect the conversation as quickly as possible. “Exquisite leaves,” I said. “May I properly ask how you came by it?”

“Flower of Sarrse,” Captain Rubran Osck said. “Direct from Athoek. Best that money can buy.”

I admired the color of the tea, deep and pure in the white porcelain, and mused, “Flower of Sarrse, direct from Athoek. Remarkable.” The sentence was an upper class shibboleth, a subtle but deliberate test of my standing. If Anaander Mianaai were to say Sarrse direct from Athoek, her dialect of Radchaai would produce a string of sounds that were vanishingly rare anywhere else. It was the dialect that grand houses like Geir, Osck and Denche learned from the cradle, but daughters of lower houses did not benefit from such immersion. Captain Rubran smiled. I had passed my first test in the social strata of this particular annexation. Satisfied that we both knew where I stood linguistically, I said, “Have you been down to Ors, Captain?”

“Yes. Not the best post, I’m sorry to say, Translator.”

I gestured resignation to fate. “As Amaat wills, then. Warm, at least.”

Captain Rubran and I made small talk for some time, until she cocked her head to one side, receiving some message via implant. “Ship tells me your shuttle is here. Safe travels, Translator Kuenr.” She stood and opened the door of her dining room, handing me off to the care of one of Justice of Toren’s ancillaries, One Esk Fifteen by its uniform tags.

“If you would come this way, Translator,” the ancillary said, and escorted me down the hall, into a lift, and down another hall to where the shuttle was docked. We strapped in and I accepted a pill to keep down the microgravity nausea. Some minutes later, we landed in the city of Ors. Humid air, heavy with the stench of marsh, poured into the shuttle in an oppressive wave.

No wonder the natives eschew gloves, I thought, palms (and everywhere else) beginning to sweat the moment I stepped out of the shuttle. We had set down on a hilltop platform with a clear view across the marshes to the dilapidated city.

“What is that?” I asked, pointing across to the most prominent building there.

“The temple of Ikkt,” Esk Fifteen said. “The Shis’urnans’ idea of Amaat. Their high priest has been very helpful to Lieutenant Awn.”

Odd, I thought, for Justice of Toren to volunteer that about the priest without my asking. To my shame, I had not made the best impression on it during my last visit. But then, I had been a different person.

Fifteen led me through Ors by a circuitous route, avoiding the great many flooded streets and walkways. It gave me a thorough surveying of the city, which appeared mostly untouched by the annexation. Any damage here was decay, not the results of Radchaai weapons. Good. It would make my job easier.

We arrived soon at the residence of Senior Esk Lieutenant Awn Elming, with whom I would be staying for the duration of my assignment. Esk Fifteen escorted me inside, to a wood-walled room floored with tightly woven reed mats. Two lieutenants sat at a low table, and stood upon seeing me. They bowed slightly, and I more deeply in return.

“Translator Kuenr,” said one. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to Ors. I am Lieutenant Awn, and this is Lieutenant Skaaiat Awer, Justice of Ente Seven Issa.” She motioned to the other lieutenant, a darker skinned person with more aristocratic features. “Will you have tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” I had dropped my pretentious accent in favor of my own first dialect, one with a rather more provincial drawl. I preferred to speak comfortably during my assignment. “Is there a space immediately available for me? I’d like to begin work as soon as possible.”

“We have a room for you here in this house, with a desk and writing materials. One Esk is bringing your things up as we speak.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Begging your pardon, Translator, but Captain Rubran was rather vague in describing what it is you actually do,” Lieutenant Skaaiat interjected. “I heard something about you not being a normal translator, which at first I took to mean Presger, but you seem Radchaai enough. Can one properly ask?”

I laughed and gestured that I was not offended. “No problems, Lieutenant. My job is to document the Orsian language to better our communication here.”

“But everyone we work with already speaks Radchaai,” Skaaiat said.

“If conflict were ever to break out again here on Shis’urna, it would be important to have translators whose loyalties were certain, no? Insurgents will not be so considerate as to pass along their plans in-” and here I switched back to my aristocratic accent- “proper, civilized Radchaai.” Certainly an awkward reduplication, to say civilized Radchaai, but it made my point.

Skaaiat nodded. “Thank you for explaining.”

I switched back to my normal speech. “Of course. With whom may I speak to coordinate interviews with the Orsians?”

“That would be the Divine of Ikkt,” Awn said. “I meet with her later today. You’re welcome to join. Ship, please tell the Divine that Translator Kuenr Deacht will be in attendance today, and explain why.” Esk Fifteen gestured assent.

“Has the annexation been too hard on you, Lieutenants?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Lieutenant Awn said with a slight smile. “We’ve managed in these six months what could take years.”

“Nothing like Valskaay,” Lieutenant Skaaiat added.

I hid my grimace behind a long sip of tea. “So Captain Rubran has been spreading my whole life story around, then.”

“Pardon, Translator, I only meant to reassure you,” Skaaiat said.

I drained my tea bowl. “Thank you, Lieutenant. If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’ll rest in my room until Lieutenant Awn and I meet the Divine. Might Ship wake me when it’s time?”

“Of course,” Lieutenant Awn said.

Esk Fifteen showed me to my room. I flopped down heavily on the fungal-smelling mattress, stripped off everything except my pants and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to NWG for editing.
> 
> On Tea: Ann Leckie describes what some of the Radchaai teas are like here: http://www.annleckie.com/2014/09/22/tea-2/ I meant for Flower of Sarrse to be a commonly sold lookalike to Daughter of Fishes, so imagine a Ti Kuan Yin, as Leckie says.
> 
> 20 Apr 2017 Correction: A previous version of the chapter said that the captain of Justice of Toren was Teksyf Geir, an OC. I had overlooked that Rubran Osck was the canon captain during this annexation. This was entirely my mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translator Kuenr's meeting with the Divine of Ikkt. Lieutenant Awn learns more about the food situation in Ors.

“Translator, Lieutenant Awn is readying to leave.” Esk Fifteen stood over me as I opened my eyes.

“Be down in a moment,” I said. I pulled my Translator’s uniform back on, adjusted my pins, and hastily smoothed out some wrinkles. I went downstairs, and Lieutenant Awn and I left for our meeting.

We met the Divine near the Temple itself, in her home. In the typical Orsian construction, it was comfortably open to the air, walled when needed by shutters or partitions. A junior priest escorted us in wordlessly.

“Thank you,” Lieutenant Awn said, and bowed slightly.

“Pardon Radchaai I do not understand,” the junior priest said, in rote monotone, with an overlong aspiration on the  _ p,  _ and tapping what should have been an approximant Radchaai  _ r.  _ Should have been, at least, in the common dialect that these new citizens would be taught. She walked off at a pace that could easily have been interpreted as improper, as if to escape.

“I’m sorry,’ Lieutenant Awn said. “Everyone is still skittish around us.”

“At least here the clerics agree to speak with you,” I replied. Lieutenant Awn would know, of course, about our troubles on Valskaay in that regard.

“That is fortunate,” she agreed, and graciously asked no further about my last assignment.

The Divine of Ikkt entered at that moment. She was a person with grey hair and beard, wearing a length of yellow cloth around her waist. Her shoulders were covered in some sort of symbols drawn in ink, I knew not of what significance. I wondered if they were language, or purely assorted symbols without grammar. She wore thick leather gloves, scuffed and abused with work. Probably, they were only meant to be worn by heavy laborers, but the Divine had needed to improvise something for propriety. She bowed low.

“Lieutenant Awn, thank you for meeting me. And Translator Kuenr, it is an honor.” Her speech was deeply accented by the Orsian language. She had particular trouble with the syllabic  _ r  _ that ended my name, pronouncing something more like  _ Kuenda.  _ “May I offer tea?”

“That would be… very nice,” Lieutenant Awn said. The pause was barely perceptible, but still enough to make me anticipate something  _ not  _ very nice. The thick, lukewarm, sweet beverage handed to me was actually quite nice. I put it down to her personal tastes.

“You would like to discuss the current food situation,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Begging your very great indulgence, what we have here is simply not enough. Until we can remake the roads from Kould Ves, we rely on the skel from your ships.”

“Divine, as I understand it, we provide two meals’ ration to every resident of Ors.  _ Justice of Toren  _ gives me the report daily. I understand two meals of skel per day isn’t the most appealing food, but our resources are limited as well.”

The Divine shifted uncomfortably, and lowered her voice. “Your pardon, Lieutenant, but perhaps you do not understand the situation in this city. What happens between the shuttle platform and the lower city is not always under your ancillaries’ eye.”

Lieutenant Awn raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

The Divine shook her head vehemently. “Please do not mind it, Lieutenant. I will ensure the rations are enough. Does the Translator wish to do her business now?”

Lieutenant Awn’s expression hardened. “Divine, I would like to know what you meant, when you said my ancillaries don’t see everything.”

The Divine lowered her gaze to the floor. “I meant nothing by it, Lieutenant, I do not  mean to bring more bloodshed to my people…”

“I order you to tell me,” Lieutenant Awn said. A Lieutenant could not directly order a citizen in most cases, but that hardly mattered at this point in an annexation.

“Please, it is as it has always been, this is not your concern…”

“I will find out, Divine.” Lieutenant Awn said finally.

“The Tanmind will intimidate lower city families to relinquish their rations. Just as they would before the annexation.”

“I see,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“But I can fix it, Lieutenant. Begging your pardon, but I can do it without violence. I do not want my people to fight you, Tanmind or not.”

“As I see it, the starvation of children in the lower city  _ is  _ violence, Divine,” Lieutenant Awn said. “And I promise I will oversee food distribution more carefully, now that you have made me aware. If that is all, Translator Kuenr has her item of business, as well.”

“Yes, of course. Translator, I was told that you are the Radchaai who was sent to learn our languages. Is this true?”

“Languages? Pardon, Divine, I was told there was one Orsian language in this area.”

She shook her head. “No, there is also Tanmind.”

“My apologies, Translator, I did tell Captain Rubran about the difference,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just have to update my timetable with the Office. Divine, my hope is to conduct interviews with a large part of the city, in order to fully survey each language. It’s important for us to know even the smallest differences between, for example, how the youth and the elders speak. I thought you would be able to quickly get my request to the whole city.”

“How long would this take?” the Divine asked.

“I’ll be here for at least two years,” I said.

“I mean, Translator, my parishioners are busy people, especially given the food shortage. They will want to know what they are committing to.”

“An interview should last a few hours,” I said.

“Most people in this city cannot devote so much time to idle chat, Translator. Begging your pardon, but they will only see it as that.”

“Lieutenant, are we in a resource position to offer any sort of compensation?” I asked.

“No. I’m sorry," Lieutenant Awn said.

“Then I will send immediately for a package from the Office,” I said. “Not formally, but I have some connections that can move things along quickly.” These, of course, were friends of mine who dealt often with the Presger Translators, whose influence was well-known. “It will be some months before it arrives by gate, I believe. In the meantime, Divine, whoever helps with my project will be noted, and I will make sure Lieutenants Awn and Skaaiat, and Captain Rubran, know how helpful they were to the interests of the Radch.”

“Pardon, Translator, but I cannot expect my parishioners to work for you, only for food months away and the praise of the Radchaai.”

“That’s what I can offer, Divine,” I said. “Still, please carry my message. Good day to you.”

“Good day, Translator, Lieutenant,” the Divine said. The same novice priest as before escorted us out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Did I accidentally drop a non-Radchaai pronoun? Please tell me! Many thanks to Editor Martin, whose help has been very beneficial to the linguistic and canon accuracy of JPI.
> 
> Tea: AL says that "a sort-of equivalent of Orsian tea would probably be iced coffee with condensed milk in it." This is from her page at Adagio Teas: https://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=74905
> 
> Linguistics: I decided that the Radchaai 'r' was most likely a postalveolar approximant from this passage: “Seivarden couldn’t quite get her throat around the [name Rrrrr]. ... Most people I’ve heard just say a long r sound.” (Breq, Ancillary Justice, Chapter 15) Since Seivarden couldn't pronounce a "throat" sound, that eliminated any velar or uvular for me. It had to be possible to make the sound "long," so no alveolar flap. I was left with either an alveolar trill or postalveolar approximant, and liked the sound of the latter better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awn and Skaaiat discuss what to do about the Tanmind. A song for One Esk.

We walked home in the sunset and ate with Lieutenant Skaaiat; skel and weak tea wrung from the same leaves as earlier today.

“How many languages do you speak?” Lieutenant Skaaiat asked, between bites. “I know you said you’re not strictly a translator, but a linguist must speak quite a few.”

I chuckled in spite of myself. “Pardon me, Lieutenant, but I don’t. Only Radchaai and Delsig. Oh, and my parents spoke Telehi at home, but I haven’t kept up with it. My work has always been in the analysis of data. Finding patterns, refining theories. Nothing that requires conversation. Please don’t worry, though. We get that question often.”

“I hear the Telehi are quite a musical people,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“Oh?” I asked. I had never considered us more musical than any other Radchaai world, though my father had sung quite a bit.

“Oh no,” Lieutenant Skaaiat said, “Don’t get it started, Awn, really.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Lieutenant Awn said, playfully chastising. “One Esk, come here a moment. Translator, do you mind singing us something?”

“Awn, it’s not going to stop for days--”

“Lieutenants,” I cut in, “I remember One Esk from Valskaay, and I would be happy to sing something for it.”

Lieutenant Skaaiat sighed, and Awn gave her a playful punch on the arm.

I took a deep breath and sang in Telehi:

  
  


_ You, so greatly marked by blood _

_ Were greatly mourned in this house. _

_ The outsider was greatly despised _

_ Who you did oppose! _

 

_ Oh, blessings fall upon you _

_ Oh, blessings fall upon you _

_ Oh, blessings fall upon you _

_ For the winter is receding! _

 

I sang the verses once over again, and One Esk Fifteen repeated it with phoneme-for-phoneme accuracy, a superhuman precision of pronunciation.

“What language did this segment speak before it was connected to  _ Justice of Toren?  _ I asked.

“The segment was Ghaonish,” Fifteen said. “From Th’haral.”

“Ah. Similar phonology, then. I wouldn’t expect just any ancillary to enunciate Telehi so well.”

“I thought the Ghaonish languages had mostly died out,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“Oh, they have,” I replied. “I became familiar with them in school, though. My thesis dealt with that annexation, and I happened upon their poetry in the process. They were a prodigious culture. Inspired me to write some of my own. Are you familiar with Bovine Mode?”

Lieutenant Skaaiat raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not.”

Lieutenant Awn gestured ignorance.

“It’s an old style,” I said. “Focuses on expressing some aspect of nature in very few words, with strict rhyme and meter.”

“Awn has quite a collection of poetry,” Lieutenant Skaaiat said.

“Oh, stop it,” Lieutenant Awn said.

“What?” I asked.

Lieutenant Awn smiled sheepishly. “My younger sister sends me her poems. They’re very good for her age. In Radchaai, though.”

I smiled. “If the Bard of Elming approves, I could maybe give some tips,” I said.

“I think she’d appreciate it. Thank you, Translator. Now, Skaaiat should know about the Tanmind issue.” She relayed what the Divine had said about the Tanmind taking food.

“We could serve hot skel in the plaza,” Skaaiat said.

“How do you mean?”

“You know the plaza in the lower city? Fence it off, just with some boundary tape to send the message. We have enough cooking fuel to serve it properly, too.”

“The people won’t single themselves out like that. Back me up, Translator, you saw how scared the Divine was to upset the Tanmind. This root goes deep.”

“In my non expert opinion, I would agree,” I said.

“Fine. Make everyone eat in the plaza, in shifts. Esk can watch them.”

Awn frowned. “I won’t go that far on one report, even from the Divine.”

Skaaiat gestured indifference. “Don’t know what else you want to do.” She took the last bite of her skel and the final swig of her tea, then stood from the table. “Translator, you can give your dishes to One Esk. Awn, counters?”

“Sure.”

 

I headed upstairs to my bare room, and went about unpacking my icons and arranging them on one side of my generously sized desk. I placed Amaat, four armed, holding out the Emanations, first, then Toren, in deference to my hosts. Finally, I reached for my velvet roll of small household gods, a family selection culled from the great Telehi multitude. My people had millions of gods, demigods, spirits, kami, and numina, a patron for every tool and trade, every stage of life and time of year. I had taken five with me: Neqom, helper of sick and vulnerable infants, Diezet, of travellers by the system gates, Esnat, of argument and public address, and Tharam, of choral societies. The Telehi people carry out worship and petition on behalf of their families and friends, so it would be improper for me to carry my own patron, Nasaf. That would be taken care of by my circle, for whom I carried out the same duties here. I placed the statues, each no taller than a fist, on the table around Amaat. Satisfied with their arrangement, I made my supplications, head bowed, speaking in Telehi the litany of duties and praises.

When I had finished, I called One Esk for water and bathed, washing the sweat of the day away. As I did so, I sang the last two verses of the song I had begun at dinner.

“Thank you, Translator,” One Esk Fifteen said as it left.

“Of course, Ship.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea: AL says that the "lowest-common-denominator tea is ... something like pu erh." http://www.annleckie.com/2014/09/22/tea-2/
> 
> Music: The Telehi song is based on the Irish Gaelic song 'Oró sé do Bheatha 'Bhaile.' In fact, I wrote it by translating the original into Toríqaese, my personal constructed language, then back out into English. My blog post on the subject:  
> http://toriqaeseta-ek.tumblr.com/post/159717056695/o-ase%C4%9Dae-nal%C3%B3-pa-verse-1
> 
> Thanks again to Martin for the super-detailed canon check and editing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Translator Kuenr begins her research, and the food conflict turns violent.

I awoke to the alarm of the timepiece by my bedside, a fine little cesium atomic one with silvery skin the color of armor. It chimed until I pressed down on it and rolled out of bed.

“ _The flower of justice is peace,_ ” I began, with the automated promptness of years in service. “ _The flower of benefit is Amaat whole and entire. I am the reaping hook of benefit properly used, gathering wheat for the hungry. My hearth is compassion and my tool is reason._ ”

As I walked downstairs, Lieutenant Awn was in the main room of the house, laying out the cloth to cast the day’s omens. Small Orsian children carried fresh flowers in, and then joined a small crowd around Lieutenant Awn and the casting stage: several other children, the town medic, and, to my surprise, the Divine of Ikkt.

“Very nice to see you here, Divine,” I said.

“Thank you, Translator. I thought we could talk after the cast.”

Lieutenant Awn made the cast, throwing the disks, which landed with a musical ringing on the cloth-covered wood. One Esk looked at their placement and recited a rather mundane passage of scripture, and the crowd dispersed.

“Good morning, Divine. Interesting cast today. May I offer you tea?” I asked after finding her in the crowd.

“Very interesting. No thank you, though. My business is short. The Nyks house have offered to meet you for your work. They can meet you on… Pardon, the word is ‘drying day’ in Orsian, with no real Radchaai match that I know. I believe the Lieutenant will understand. Will you meet them then, noon at their home?”

“Yes. Thank you, this is very helpful. Noon, drying day, at the Nyks house. Good day, Divine.”

 

“The Orsians mark a week by the time it takes to make a ritual weaving,” Lieutenant Awn said when I found her to ask about ‘drying day.’ “First day is Dyeing, then Soaking, Beginning, Weaving, Cutting, Drying, Polishing, Resting. Today is a Cutting Day.”

“Do they write that as two words, or a compound?” I asked.

“I honestly have no idea.”

 

 _“Kaine’tanj_ ,” Dhai Nyks said, when I asked her. We sat in her large, well-appointed house on Drying day, along with her partner, mother, and two small daughters. “One word. _Ine’_ is to cut, _tanj_ is the day.”

“Interesting,” I said. “Now, to start the interview itself, do you mind if I record this all? I have an implant for it.”

“Not at all,” Dhai and the others of her household said.

“Thank you.” I touched the pressure switch behind my ear, and the data displays appeared in my field of view. I silently noted the names of the Nyks household: Dhai, Hadek, the partner, Tians, the mother, Kie and Lio, the daughters.

“So how does this work?” Hadek asked, causing a waveform and spectrogram to bloom into view from my implants. From these, I could read precise specifics of her production of every sound.

“Basically, I will listen to you speak in your language, and depending on the day I will have different goals. I will learn all of the phonemes, that is, the meaningful sounds, in the language, and then learn the grammar with all its irregularities. Finally, and I find this the most intensive on both of us, I will need to compile a dictionary. Shall we begin?”

This day was all about sounds. I asked each member of the family to tell a story in Orsian, and my implants recorded everything I heard. Each story took the better part of an hour, and the children were especially gregarious. Although, I most probably wouldn’t use their data; they seemed young enough that their pronunciation might not be fully developed. Next, I asked them to name as many objects in their home as time allowed.

“That should be enough for today,” I said at the end. “Thank you, and I hope this hasn’t been too much of a strain on you. Would it be proper to ask you to tell your neighbors about the experience? I know people are nervous talking to Radchaai, but I hope you could put them at ease.”

“Of course, Translator,” Dhai said. “It is important to us that we transition safely into citizenship. I hope you found us helpful.”

“Very much, thank you.”

 

I had the whole Orsian week to annotate one session of elicitation, so I allowed myself the rest of the day at leisure. I wrote letters to my circle and family, and had _Justice of Toren_ relay them out.

The next morning at breakfast, Awn and Skaaiat were bantering as was their wont, when Awn paused mid-sentence, receiving a message from _Justice of Toren._ She shoved the last of her bread in her mouth and went to the door, followed by Skaaiat and I. Two segments of One Esk, armor activated, held between them a bloodied, unconscious Tanmind.

“Ship found her with a dead body in the street of the lower city,” Awn said. “Two witnesses said she killed her over a serving of skel. Ship is interviewing the witnesses now, and we have the weapon.”

“Closed case, then,” Skaaiat said.

“What will happen to her?” I asked.

“Probably execution, once the District Magistrate rules,” Skaaiat said. “We don’t have reeducation facilities yet.”

“Don’t we?” Awn asked, giving me a pointed look. “Translator?”

“I haven’t been recertified in twenty years,” I said. “And besides, the learning drugs Medic carries for me are different than those used for reeducation.”

“Whatever you can do must be better than execution,” Awn said.

“Most citizens would believe that, wouldn’t they,” I replied. “If I fail, execution would be merciful.”

“Then I’ll be merciful,” Awn said.

“Awn!” Skaaiat said. “You can’t be serious. You could be court martialed.”

“I agree with Lieutenant Skaaiat,” I said. “Administration is very serious about who uses those drugs. Frankly, I would not trust your Medic if she agreed to give them to me.”

“I’ll decide who I trust, Translator. Ship, please submit my request to Medic.”

“I feel I need to remind you that Captain Rubran will also receive a copy of your request,” One Esk said. “Per regulations.”

“Thank you, Ship. I understand,” Awn said. “Translator Kuenr, I will order you to attempt re-education if I am approved.”

“Then I will re-educate her,” I said. “But Lieutenant, I hope not to expose you to why I left that profession.”

“I’ve seen my share of pain.”

“Not this kind, Lieutenant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Martin, who has been very beneficial to writing a proper story in the Radch.
> 
> If you're interested in the linguistics displayed in this chapter, consider downloading a copy of the free speech analysis software Praat. I based the functions of Translator Kuenr's implants on its interface.
> 
> The morning prayer is based off of the one featured in Isendeni Station, AL's unpublished first book in the Radch universe. Read more here: https://annleckie.tumblr.com/post/128285333061/morning-prayer


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeducator Kuenr presents her research to Anaander Mianaai.

I lay prostrate before my Lord Mianaai, forehead resting on the palace floor. Another re-educator lay alongside me. If I misspoke, I could kill her.

“Reeducator Kuenr, please explain your findings to Reeducator Kashana,” my Lord Mianaai said.

“I would be honored, my Lord,” I said. “My analysis of the Valskaayan religion, in comparison to similar, yet minority, cults observed throughout the Radch, leads me to believe that a new re-education method is necessary to civilize the planet. Currently approved methods based solely on behavioral conditioning are ineffective. I believe that I have a new sociological and epistemological method to bring the Valskaayan people into a proper recognition of Amaat.”

“Does your research lead you to believe that the current re-educators are not competent?” my Lord asked. Re-educator Kashana drew breath.

“Begging my Lord’s considerate indulgence, I find it difficult to answer in a way that gives justice to Re-educator Kashana,” I said.

“Explain,” my Lord said.

“In the strictest sense of the word, the re-educators are not competent,” I said. “That is, having the necessary ability  _ and knowledge. _ But, begging my Lord’s most indulgent pardon, it is my humble but considered opinion that very few Radchaai can be held at fault for not having knowledge and understanding of the Valskaayans’ religion. The research involved is beyond the scope of re-educators’ curricula, and such exclusive monotheism is, to all but the most learned, near incomprehensible to Radchaai. Only by Amaat’s will am I in a position to comprehend it easily, having been raised on a planet that once supported a minority cult to which the Valskaayans’ can be compared. I believe that the undoubtedly skilled re-educators on Valskaay would be more effective, under my direction.”

“Begging my Lord’s pardon, and Re-educator Kuenr’s,” Re-educator Kashana said, “but perhaps Re-educator Kuenr is not as familiar with annexations as she is with re-education on already civilized worlds. Begging her pardon, she may not be able to make a proper assessment of my management.”

“She oversteps herself by assuming she would direct re-education on Valskaay,” my Lord said. “Still, she will go there, and will be granted significant latitude to perform the tests proposed in her thesis. Re-educator Kuenr will be given officers’ berth and research equipment aboard  _ Justice of Toren. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please notice that I've updated the rating and archive warnings. These flashbacks will have details of re-education.
> 
> I considered having multiple Anaanders in this scene, so imagine multiple if you like.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bored Translator Kuenr talks a lot about skel.

Later that evening. I was nearly finished with the phonetic transcription of the first story, putting down the pronunciation of each word with exacting scientific detail. The Radchaai Phonetic Alphabet was dozens of symbols larger than the standard alphabet that most Radchaai could write. This was necessary for the great number of sounds that were meaningful in other languages, but not in Radchaai.

_ Medic does not approve Lieutenant Awn’s request for re-education drugs.  _ The words appeared suddenly in my vision, from  _ Justice of Toren. _

I messaged back,  _ Send Lieutenant Awn my apologies.Though I stand by my recommendations, I understand what she was trying to do for the citizen. _ I returned to my transcription, finishing two of the stories by the time I went to bed. I had all of them written by the next Drying day, and I had written questions to see which sounds were contrastive and which were predictable.

On the morning of Drying day, the Nyks household would not open their door to me. “It’s not personal, Translator,” Dhai said, “but there was the incident.”

“The perpetrator was caught, and the District Magistrate will no doubt rule for her guilt,” I said.

“There is more than one angry Tanmind.”

“And more than one fearful,” I countered.

“We have decided, Translator,” Dhai said.

“Please!” I shouted, but nothing further came from the other side of the door. “Fuck,” I muttered.

“Language, Translator,” One Esk said.

“Fuck. They were my only informants, Ship.”

“I know, Translator. I am sorry. Come back to the house, and I can make good tea with fresh leaves.”

 

I drank my sympathy tea with Skaaiat, and we played counters.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s difficult to really get good data from unwilling subjects, but in the most basic sense it can be done. And Amaat knows how the interviewing time will affect their livelihoods.”

“They have skel from us,” Skaaiat said. “It’s not like working brings them that much extra food.”

“They fish and dig for tubers in the marshes, no?” I asked.

“Certainly it doesn’t yield much,” Skaaiat said.

“It may be more important than you think,” I replied. “How big is a portion of skel that you call a ‘meal’?”

Skaaiat gestured ignorance. “Not my area, really.”

“Ship?” I asked.

Fifteen cupped its hands as if holding an imaginary lump of skel. It couldn’t be larger than a single fist.

“You can’t be serious, Lieutenant! Two of that per day?” I gestured at Ship’s representation in a way that strained propriety. “That’s not what we eat daily. It’s not even what Ship eats per ancillary per day, and we don’t even call it a person! Sure, I can be ordered by the Office to interrogate for the language, but I won’t until that explicit order comes.”

“You said yourself that knowing the language is of strategic importance,” Skaaiat said.

“You said yourself this isn’t Valskaay,” I countered. “And what I saw today was a person going to execution over the food situation.”

“A greedy Tanmind.”

“Or soon a desperate Orsian, if I take their language from their empty mouths.”

Skaaiat gestured defeat. “Talk to Awn about it, then,” she said. “She’s the commanding officer in this city, anyway.”

“I will,” I said. We were silent except for the rattle of counters being dropped on the board for some minutes, before I said, “How is she, anyway?”

“Hmm?”

“Lieutenant Awn. We’ve barely spoken since she tried to get me to reeducate.”

“She’ll be alright. But she’s that type, you know what I mean?”

“Not particularly.”

“Keeps trying to do something crazy to take care of every non-citizen she can. Either she’s going to realize that some things just have to be left alone, or she’s going to get herself court martialed or worse. I worry about her.”

“Better than the opposite fault, I think,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Trying to grow a conscience on the job. Some people with a very narrow view of justice and propriety could benefit from having it widened.”

Skaaiat straightened in her chair and fixed me with a cold look. “Am I supposed to interpret that a certain personal way, Translator?”

“Oh, no, begging your gracious pardon, Lieutenant. I meant to speak from my time on Valskaay. You, and Awer by reputation, seem properly just. I spoke carelessly.” I gestured my grave sincerity.

“I assumed too quickly,” Skaaiat said. “Begging your pardon.”

“None needed,” I said with a gesture of polite dismissal. “Speaking of Lieutenant Awn, where is she now?”

“Dealing with some Tanmind of House Jen,” Skaaiat said, letting obvious distaste color her voice. “Apparently they’re not happy with the conditions their cousin is being kept in before we ship her off to trial. And who knows how long that will be, the way Administration is scheduling flyers these days.”

One Esk took our empty tea flask, refilled it, and set it to heat.

“Ah,” Skaaiat said. “Awn will be back in a moment, then.”

 

“How did it go?” Skaaiat asked when Awn entered.

“As you’d expect,” she huffed. “Tanmind wanted a prison cell for their cousin that’s better waterproofed than half the lower city. Probably better than the house of the victim, not that Shinnan cares.” She sat with us and accepted the teacup from One Esk. “Thank you, Ship.”

“Any word on the flyer to Kould Ves?” I asked.

“Only two days away, thank Amaat,” Awn said. “And the road should open up soon after, so we can get some better food.”

“Excellent,” Skaaiat said with relish. “I can’t wait for something other than skel.”

Awn chuckled.

“What?” Skaaiat asked.

“Oh, Awer, you’re funny,” Awn said. “Mother didn’t make you finish your skel as a child?”

“I never had it until I joined the military,” Skaaiat said. “I can eat it, but it’s a relief to have something else.”

“Speaking of, should we have dinner now?” Awn asked.

“Sounds lovely,” I said. I silently messaged, through  _ Justice of Toren, Might Lieutenant Awn and I meet in private after dinner? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Martin for editing.
> 
> Linguistics: The Radchaai Phonetic Alphabet is based directly on the International Phonetic Alphabet, a real linguistics tool.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awn and Kuenr discuss the realities of re-education. The Tanmind protest the treatment of the murder suspect.

_ I guess you did not want Skaaiat to hear about this,  _ Awn messaged. She thought it best that we hold our conversation like this, silently, each in our respective baths.

_ I thought we should both speak as frankly as possible,  _ I replied.  _ You don’t understand why I said what I said, and that disturbs you greatly. _

_ I am fine, Translator. You’re right, I don’t understand what goes on in re-education. But I have decided to trust your opinion. _

_ I admire how you acted,  _ I messaged.

_ And yet you fought me? _

_ Only Amaat knows everything. The rest of us have to gather evidence.  _ Not quite orthodox, phrasing that in a way that suggested a “rest of us” outside of Amaat, the universe itself. Still, I found only the most devout ever had a problem with some idiomatic phrasing.

_ Pardon, Translator? _

_ I mean that you acted on the best evidence you knew, and on your conscience. Cannot be blamed for not knowing something that Radchaai discuss so little. _

_ I try, Translator. Would it be improper to ask if I could be left to my bath in peace? _

_ Of course not. Have a good evening, Lieutenant. _

_ You too, Translator. _

 

The next morning, I read agitation on Lieutenant Awn’s face even before she made the day’s cast. The reason became obvious soon enough; as we were finishing breakfast, a steady stream of city residents trickled into the street in front of the house. I inquired to Ship if they were Tanmind, and my suspicion was confirmed. Lieutenant Awn led their apparent leader to sit in our front room.

“Jen Shinnan,” Lieutenant Awn said, “you know Lieutenant Skaaiat, and may I introduce Kuenr Deacht of the Translators’ Office. Translator, this is Jen Shinnan.”

I gestured in greeting. “My pleasure.” Not really, but it was a more proper greeting than  _ Morning, you classist shit, have some tea. It’s gone tepid. Suits you. _

“I know who you are, Translator,” Shinnan said. “You should go play with the lower city folk now. The Lieutenant and I have serious criminal matters to discuss.”

“Lieutenant Awn has already found me competent to hear about your grievance, I assure you,” I said. “And I do wish that I was working, but your cousin has made that rather difficult.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Shinnan said, feigning surprise.

“Please don’t play the fool with me,” I said. Shinnan couldn’t possibly have thought she could deny like that and get away with it. “Tanmind wish they could kill Radchaai, but they’ll settle for Orsians.”

“Lieutenant, I think you need to muzzle your Translator,” Shinnan said. No denial of my accusation.

“The Translator could reign in her frustration, yes,” Lieutenant Awn said. However, Ship sent me a momentary flash of her vital signs, which read not disappointment, but a thrill of victory. I had said what she was thinking. “May I ask why you’re all here?”

“I understand that this is how you Radchaai protest, yes?” Shinnan said, gesturing to the line of Tanmind forming outside. “We will wait here until our cousin is given something better than that wet hole and bare skel rations.”

“The flyer arrives tomorrow evening,” Lieutenant Awn said. “I have no intention of pampering a criminal for these two days, and afterward the situation is out of my control. You could take your complaint to Kould Ves, if you still aren’t satisfied.”

“Alleged criminal,” Shinnan said. Lieutenant Awn gestured indifference. Shinnan continued, “And I’m sure conditions in Kould Ves are just as improper.” The suggestion of  _ unjust  _ was left unspoken, but obvious to any Radchaai.

“You may make a peaceful line for as long as you like. But as the Translator said, don’t play the fool here. You know that I have no further power to save your cousin from execution. The District Magistrate already has One Esk’s memories of the event, and my sealed testimony. The people making the decision are all far and above me now.”

I read Shinnan’s face as she struggled, knowing Awn was right but not wanting to back down. “We will line until the flyer is out of our sight,” she decided finally.

“Lieutenant,” I said, “Might I properly suggest something?”

Lieutenant Awn gestured assent.

“Perhaps let the Tanmind bring their own food and blankets to their cousin, if they worry so much for her,” I said.

“Would that satisfy you?” Awn asked.

“I will speak with the others,” Jen Shinnan said, and strode out. She left and conferred with her group in Tanmind, and I switched on my implants, which easily heard her because of the house’s open plan. Reading the spectrogram with pitch and formats, Tanmind seemed contour tonal and with at least three distinctions of voice onset time. Shinnan, then, was properly transcribed /çin55.nan24/ in the Radchaai Phonetic Alphabet.

Jen Shīnnǎn re-entered the house and said in Radchaai, “We have decided that we will bring food to our comrade, but we still find her treatment unjust. Not only the appalling conditions of her cell, but the swiftness with which you assume her guilt, Lieutenant. No doubt a less biased review of the evidence will show that our cousin acted in self-defense.”

“If you have doubts about my impartiality-” Lieutenant Awn began, but was cut off.

“Oh, I have no doubts, Lieutenant. Your Translator loves the Orsians, and she has your ready ear in this house.”

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“I think you already did.”

“I didn’t muddy the Translator’s--”

“Citizens!” I snapped. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go check over my allophone paradigms.” I had already checked them, had in fact already run the final computer check, but I wanted to be out of the room. I went to my room and knelt in front of the Amaat there, my eyes trained on the IssaInu held in one delicate hand. I regulated my breathing, pulled myself into the thought of air over muscles and bone.  _ There is no motion without stillness.  _ I was certain I had embarrassed the household. I meditated a long while, roused only by a message from Ship:

_ Lieutenant Awn would like to apologize for involving you like that, Translator. _

_ I’ve been more involved in worse,  _ I messaged back.  _ Send her my apologies for my impropriety. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Martin for the continued beneficial editing.
> 
> Linguistics: The "Radchaai Phonetic Alphabet" used to transcribe Jen Shinnan's name is actually the International Phonetic Alphabet. I borrowed the tonal accent marks on Shīnnǎn from Mandarin Chinese.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Re-Educator Kuenr is happy that protests have been peaceful. With few exceptions.

“Such a shame about the paving stones,” I said, kicking one with my booted foot. It rocked freely in the centuries-old, crumbly mortar.

“I wouldn’t worry,” said Quaiden, a novice priest of Amaat and my friend. “Everyone will be looking up.” She gestured upwards at the temple façade. It was mere days old, freshly gleaming with polished white marble and jeweled Emanations replacing the old icons. Quaiden’s polytheistic minority had been quick to welcome the Radchaai and adopt the name of Amaat into their worship.

“That they will,” I said. “I heard the stars in the VahnItr are diamonds cut and polished in the Outradch. Our Lord Mianaai has put special care into this consecration.”

“I don’t see why we deserve it,” Quaiden said. “Mere peasants as us, surely no more important than another annexed world.”

“Not many new citizens are martyred in droves for wanting to  _ become  _ devotees of Amaat, quite the opposite,” I said. “Our Lord has found it proper to compensate your suffering at the hands of this majority.” I gestured out into the streets of Vestris Cor. Surrounding the temple precinct, armed and armored ancillaries of  _ Justice of Toren  _ stood three rows deep, between us and a gathering crowd of Valskaayan protesters. Many had taken gloves of a regional style and torn the fingers off, and had dirtied their fingers in ash. Others more proud of their hygiene carried signs scrawled with scripture or caricatures of Radchaai gods. I had to laugh at one ignorant and savage depiction of Amaat, who ended up looking more like a god of the Itran Tetrarchy, carrying a knife and severed head.

_ rdcr kashana look at this,  _ I messaged, along with a picture of the false Amaat.

_ lol how’s hnrd quaiden doing?   _ She messaged back.

I asked.

“Nervous,” Quaiden said. “Not everyday you get to dedicate your life to Amaat, right? And my parents aren’t helping.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Those two, in mourning.” Quaiden pointed out into the crowd in a way that would have been improper to a Radchaai, but was benign to a Valskaayan. She made the gesture brief and cast an embarrassed look around at the other Radchaai present. I followed the swift gesture and saw two people veiled in black, one leaning on a cane. Their expressions were illegible behind the black lace covering their faces, so I could only imagine how they glared at Quaiden, the daughter, the  _ son  _ who was dead to them. The signs they held aloft made it clear:  _ Apostates = Corpse Soldiers  _ in artful Delsig script.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” I said. “I can’t imagine how that feels.”

“They haven’t spoken to me in years. I think I’m as over it as I’m going to be. I know that one, too. He’s even an asshole to the parishioners.” Quaiden made another quick gesture. A person with straight back and accusing countenance was making her way through the crowd, which parted to allow her through. She was dressed in the crimson and gold of a native priest, with a robe that flowed around her ankles. Her immense, many-times folded and tiered headdress gave her the look of a bloodied and very self-important artichoke. When she arrived at the front of the crowd, mere feet from the armored ancillaries, one of her sycophants provided her a plastic crate that allowed her to stand head and shoulders above the Valskaayans and Radchaai alike. She faced her people, and they fell silent.

“Brothers and sisters of Valskaay, children of the true God,” she said in Delsig, “we stand here in defiance of an abomination. Anaander Mianaai gives us this idol of her false god and calls it  _ civilization.  _ She believes that with her clones and her armored corpses, she is the master of death. But brothers and sisters, though we may die the death of the body in defense of truth, only a true follower of God will have life eternal!” Here, she turned to face the temple. “Mianaai, you and your Radchaai refuse to see the fate that awaits you! God will have his justice! And the people of Valskaay will not be quiet in the face of one more injustice!”

The crowd roared their approval, shaking their signs like spears, hurling invectives, pressing as close to the ancillaries as they could.

“Re-Educator Kuenr,” Quaiden said, “We need to go into the temple to start the ceremony.”

“You go in, Honored,” I said absently. “I’ll be along in a moment.” When I was sure Quaiden had disappeared into the temple, I reached down and freed a single paving stone from the ground. I tested its weight, then hurled it over the ancillaries, into the crowd. Who I struck was unimportant; the crowd erupted. As quick as only ancillaries are, the thunder of gunfire rang out. I turned and walked toward the temple, and messaged  _ Justice of Toren,  _ “Ship, when you’re rounding them up, get me a few live test subjects of breeding age.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Linguistics: I know that the canon characters never use the abbreviations I use here, but I couldn't resist trying to create a Radchaai text-speak.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awn cannot escape the politics of birth, even here.

**Chapter 9**

 

The next evening, the Amaat Lieutenant of  _ Mercy of Rayetso  _ arrived in a flyer, and took away the murder suspect. Resistance from the Tanmind shrivelled, and it seemed they only were interested in the suspect as an excuse to antagonize Lieutenant Awn. We therefore had several quiet days, and I was treated to the endearingly melodramatic poetry of little Basnaaid Elming, Lieutenant Awn’s sister.

 

_ O! The flowers are coming up to say hello _

_ Deep in the woods beyond the house _

_ We see no wires or buildings there. _

_ Orange like sunset, blue like sky, purple like precious stones _

_ We run through them and we are called Honored _

_ By flower-citizens of a faraway place. _

_ Someday I hope I could wear jewels and gold _

_ But today I think that just as pretty is a flower. _

 

Lieutenant Awn winced when I read that final couplet. I wondered, was it the odd syntax?

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Oh, well, I think she meant for those to rhyme. That’s why she had to put ‘flower’ at the end. It’s our accent. I’ll correct her on it when I write back.” The Radchaai words for ‘flower’ and ‘gold’ were similar, but not so much that they would rhyme in a prestigious dialect.

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s not respectable to write in a provincial accent,” Awn said. “She won’t be noticed if she keeps writing like that.” Her tone was flat, almost ancillary-like. She had read orders from Administration in the same voice, when she disagreed with them.

“It’s a great impropriety that we think someone uncivilized because of their different vowels,” I said. “Write whatever you want to her, but please tell her that the citizen assigned to know everything important about language would like her to stay just the same.” I took a sip of my tea.

“Thank you, Translator,” Awn said with a smile.

“Out of curiosity, do you also pronounce  _ fire  _ and  _ silver  _ with the same vowel merger?” All four words were the same except for their dissimilar vowels in the prestigious, Mianaai-approved dialect.

“We do!” Awn said.

“I think I’m going to enjoy Citizen Basnaaid’s poetry very much,” I said. “Did you know that we figure out ancient languages’ pronunciations the same way? By studying lost rhymes. Pre-Notai, for example.”

Awn laughed. “My baby sister, being read like a Vendaai master. You’re too funny, Translator.” Then she cocked her head slightly, listening to some message coming through her implant. Her smile widened further. “The repair crews have told me that the road to Kould Ves will be open by noon tomorrow!”

And in fact it was. Lieutenants Awn and Skaaiat, and I, met the workers as they put down the last of the hot, pungent-smelling asphalt.

“Sorry for the delay, Lieutenants!” called a worker, Samirend by her accent, as she approached. “We had unexpected difficulty with the bridge pillars in the deepest marshes. Now, though, just wait through today for the surfacing to dry, and ground cars can pass through.”

“Excellent, thank you, Foreman,” Awn said. “Can I offer you tea?”

“Oh, I couldn’t leave the other workers. Very kind of you, though, to take the time. Are you too busy in this… city?” The pause was slight enough that I wasn’t sure Lieutenant Awn heard it, but I had practice with these things. Certainly Ors was not then what it was in older times.

“Not very,” Lieutenant Awn said. “Should calm down even more, now that people can get food by the road.”

The Foreman cast another glance around the city, scrutinizing the way it seemed to sag and moulder on the water. “Lieutenant, begging your pardon, but increased rations aren’t coming through yet.”

“What?” Lieutenant Awn asked. “You’re not serious.”

“The supply isn’t even coming through the bigger cities yet.”

“Ah, well. We have the supply from the ships. Good day, Foreman.”

“Good day, Lieutenants, Translator,” she said. The construction machines turned and began back up the new road.

Later that day, Lieutenant Awn was angry in a call with the Military Administrator on one of the stations in orbit. “Yes, Administrator, the road to Kould Ves is open. … The  _ problem,  _ Administrator, is that no one in Ors is supplying! … Administrator, we continue to need the skel. … Access? They have  _ access  _ to food? You don’t understand. … Don’t tell me you have a better perspective when I’m right here on the ground. … Whoever in Kould Ves who says skel is getting here is lying to you. … Yes, I will complain to your superior. … Fine. Good day, Administrator.”

“Problem?” Skaaiat asked.

“Administration isn’t sending us skel by shuttle anymore. Some Administrator in another system just assumes we’re getting skel from the district refectory warehouse. Probably never even been downwell in her life. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone’s lying to save her position. And yes, I’m going to call farther up the ladder until I find someone who will listen to me.”

“Aatr’s tits,” Skaaiat said. “Let me make my own calls. I can get the ear of a cousin or something, might move things along faster.  _ Justice of Ente,  _ prepare a message.”

I saw Awn slump just a little, subtly in a way that re-educators were specifically trained to recognize. The fact that an Awer could move things along faster because of her house still irked her. “Thank you, Skaaiat. I guess for now, we’ll cut our own rations.”

“Underfeeding an ancillary is classed as neglect of military property, Awn,” Skaaiat said.

“I did think of that on my own, thank you.”

“And did you think that if Administration finds out, they’ll promote someone else here? Awn, your other Esk lieutenants are looking for a way to get you  _ out _ .”

This rankled her even more; I could read it on her face now. “Yes. Because someone other than an Elming must be more  _ deserving  _ of this post, right?”

“Awn, it’s nothing personal against you, I’m just reminding you how it is--”

“I don’t need to be reminded, Awer!” Awn exclaimed, and stood.

“Apparently you do, because you’re about to get yourself launched out over these… these people! And do you think some other Lieutenant is going to give them her own skel?”

Awn stood there, silent, and I could see her struggling between wanting to admit Skaaiat was right, and wanting to come out on top when she felt her house had been slighted. Finally she settled back into her chair and sighed. “Our flower-bearers can have my lunch ration for as long as this goes on.”

“Mine as well,” I said.

“Fine,” Skaaiat said. “Me too.”

I dreamt of food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fans of SyFy’s Defiance will notice a reference to the Castithan religion in the position of the visiting Lieutenant.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at the Denche household.

Re-Educator Kashana and I awaited food. She had settled her entire household here in the well-subdued province of Surimto; her daughters, romantic contacts, servants, clients, et cetera. However, she had sent them away to dine with me in her household’s immense dining room. The Lord of Mianaai had given a captured Valskaayan monastery to Denche as spoils of annexation. We two sat alone beneath the vaulted stone ceiling of a refectory meant to seat a hundred monks. Light streamed in through stained glass windows depicting some sort of saints or demigods of the local cult.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you socially for some time, after I got over you calling me incompetent,” Re-Educator Kashana said.

“I thought I had made myself clear at Tstur,” I said with a smile.

“Oh, you did,” she replied, “but reason and emotion are runners of different speeds, as I’m sure we both know. But actually, before we really get to the personal talk, I have a business curiosity.”

“Oh?” I asked. No doubt Kashana did; as head of Re-education, she saw my requisition messages, which were unorthodox for the profession.

“A liter and a half of kef. Aren’t we supposed to be making the cultists uncomfortable, rather than so detached?”

“Not for my methods,” I said. “You must understand that monotheists love imagining torture, and telling small children about torture in vivid terms. Psychologically, it’s like re-education, reduced in intensity per session, but consistently over decades.”

“And the stimulus they’re trying to condition?”

“Denial of the faith,” I said.

Kashana’s eyes widened. “Ah. I see. So you’re framed this not as re-educator and patient, but re-educator versus re-educator. Thus the need for the emotional detachment of kef.”

I smiled. “Yes. The difficulty is finding the dose of kef, with some other drugs, that is effective but not fatal. After that it’s only a matter of rational persuasion.”

“Well, Amaat help you, Researcher,” Kashana said. “You’ll fill the Valskaayan Funerary District, trying to find that balance.”

I shrugged. “The Radch will benefit. But enough about work, Kashana! How is this place treating you and your household?”

“Oh, not so different from home! I’m in civilized company with the Administrators. Only the servants have to deal directly with the natives. How much of your household have you brought?”

“Just me,” I said. “Me and plenty of late nights working on the research.”

“You have a particular gusto for the work,” Kashana said.

I gestured agreement. “My grandmothers suffered the death throes of state monotheism on Teleh, before a century of secularism, and then annexation. The mental scars lasted their whole lives. One day as a child, my mother took me aside and explained why Grandmother Peraain had days when she could not leave her room after a nightmare. I resolved then to save others from such abuses.”

“You’re how old? About thirty? As a child, you couldn’t have heard about this annexation yet, could you have?” Such things were never announced on public channels until the first Justices were already in orbit. That had been ten years ago.

“Twenty-five, actually. My childhood plan was to chase down the very last of the Telehi monotheists,” I said. “I imagined myself delving into caves and pulling poor infants from the arms of ravening monks, and bringing them to civilization. Once I realized there was actual study involved, I set to work.”

Kashana laughed. “The adventure entertainments didn’t much care to show that part, did they? Ah, food is here!”

A line of servants came out from the kitchen and piled the table high with the best delicacies of the Radch: Mountains of spiced noodles, fine smoked eggs in ornate stands, tuna seared so quickly that it was red and raw within, crusted with spices and served with exotic sauces. We were served tea in what must have been Kashana’s best or second best tea set: deep blue glass, almost black, etched with a star map as seen in the night sky of some particular planet. The cups were similarly etched, each with a different constellation. I examined the one placed in front of me.

“The Amaat cup,” Kashana said. “Given traditionally to the guest of honor. I have the North Star cup, the host’s.” She named the other cups in the set; the four Emanations, the Frost Giant, Messenger, Turtle, and more.

“What planet’s sky is this?” I asked.

“Inai. My grandmother’s home planet. My house lived there for ten generations. Has house Deacht always lived on Teleh?”

“As far back as is known,” I said. “Many of my ancestors were desert-reclaimers, fertilizing empty sand for farming. Very lucrative, on a single planet’s scale.” Meaning that someone like Re-Educator Supervisor Kashana Denche, whose family wealth moved mountains on dozens of planets, would still think very little of it. That tea set probably equaled Grandmother Peraain’s salary for several years. I sipped my tea, a black blend flavored with bergamot and jasmine. “I spent my childhood in a modular home, moving forward every year as the fields advanced across the desert.” It had been beautiful, one horizon always brimming with green crops, the other desolate red and orange.

“What an adventure!” Kashana said. Our conversation for the rest of the meal was light and inconsequential. As we were taking our last drinks of tea, she invited me to after-dinner arrack and counters. “It’s a three-person variant we’ve been meaning to try. You can fill the third place with my daughter and I.”

 

In a monastic scriptorium, overhauled into Denche’s personal library, I sat with Kashana and her daughter, Nemaaiat. She appeared to be of my age, mid twenties, had short, straight hair, and eyes of a glistening gold that must have been implanted, not born. Her wardrobe was starkly elegant in black and white, except for the crimson shawl upon which she wore her clientage and memorial tokens. She beat Kashana and I soundly at this new counters, and I could tell it was not just because of my inexperience.

“Mother tells me you aren’t a normal Re-Educator, Kuenr,” Nemaaiat said between sips of arrack. “I wasn’t sure what to make of that.”

“The Valskaayans are in need of a more delicate touch,” I said. “No one is yet providing it, and the Lord of Mianaai was very gracious in letting me try my hand. Also, if I may beg pardon, very wise. I expect great success.”

“And how does your delicate touch differ from the norm?” Nemaaiat asked.

“My methods incorporate some old Telehi philosophy. Granted, it’s from secularists, but still valuable. How to coach a believer out of belief. I use the drugs to put them in a receptive state.”

“I’m not familiar with the movements of Telehi philosophy,” Nemaaiat said. “Do you have any recommendations for the interested historian?”

“Oh, such a long list. Any of Vel Zenda’s writings on the old Telehi monotheisms are golden. Are you a student of history?”

“Ardently, Re-Educator. I’m reading a book right now about the years before the Athoeki annexation. Did you know that a Radchaai ambassador to the Xhai nation nearly caused bloodshed over his review of the natives’ tea?”

“I did not,” I said. “How exactly did that happen?”

“Oh, it’s a funny story, and not one you’d find in the history books. Not really, at least. The official histories say that our just, proper, and beneficent ambassador gave an honest review of subpar tea, and was hounded by penis-waving barbarians until her ancillary guard gunned them down! Justly and properly, of course.”

“Penis-waving?” I interjected.

“Oh, the Athoeki have a festival with links to their old social strata. Story for another time. What I mean about the histories is, you’d think the history writers believe we’re all impressionable children! Unable to read real, unvarnished history without turning barbaric. Ha! As if we don’t hear by Station gossip every day who’s barehanding whom in a storage locker.” 

“Nemai!” Kashana exclaimed.

“Well you can’t call that proper kneeling, Mother! Not what young Fosyf has been doing out with those Samirend. Or haven’t you heard?”

“I have, I just didn’t find it proper to bring up with a guest.”

“No such thing as a squeamish re-educator,” I said. “Citizen Nemaaiat, I expect you’ve come across the true story?”

“Yes! Tsemi Vendaai, second governor of Athoek system after the annexation, was an ambassador at the time. This was several hundred years ago, in case you haven’t heard of Vendaai. They were absorbed by Geir, and Tsemi was one of the last with that house name. That’s another interesting story, but anyway. Ambassador Tsemi was touring the tea plantations of Athoek, and sampled quite a few blends. One she hated particularly, and made no secret of it to the Xhai grower. The grower very politely pointed out the popularity of her crop, which the Ambassador took to be a personal attack on her taste. After that it got heated and almost came to blows. And would you believe, Re-Educator Kuenr, that this tea was the ancestor of our Daughter of Fishes?”

“How interesting,” I said. “I didn’t know that the Athoeki teas were native to the planet.”

“Not all of them are. Still, the Athoeki were skilled with tea even before we arrived. No matter how much the entertainments say otherwise.”

“And yet, in annexation, there is still much work to be done,” Kashana said, with a knowing glance at me.

“That there is,” I said.

We passed the night with pleasant conversation, and Nemaaiat and I resolved to meet for tea in the near future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested readers will find a reference to A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, and The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern.
> 
> On Tea: The tea featured in this chapter is Earl Grey with jasmine.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The food shipment records are suspect.

Lieutenants Awn and Skaaiat brought an ancillary into our house on a stretcher, gushing blood from a head wound. I stood from my seat and rushed over to see what had happened, and immediately recognized One Esk Three, the ancillary sent to announce the skel cutoff. There was no need to ask what happened, and Awn’s eyes were locked on the segment in any case.

“Put it down here,” she said, and motioned to our dinner table.

Skaaiat said, “Awn, we should be handling the--”

“Ship has it. Get a pillow.”

“Awn--”

“Now!”

Awn put the pillow under Three’s head and put a hand on its shoulder as it breathed laboriously. “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re not alone. It will be over soon. It will be over soon.” She began to sing in a language foreign to her, fumbling strange consonants and unrounding all the wrong vowels. Awn sang with love. When I could listen through her accent, my heart quickened. A dirge in Delsig. I had heard it many times. Had been the cause for its singing, many of those times. Awn sang it with familiar sounds and crude epenthesis, but as lovingly as I had ever heard it. She quieted as the ancillary’s chest fell, and did not rise again.

“Translator, Skaaiat and I are going to survey the damage of the riot. When the Divine comes, tell her to perform her rituals on the house with haste.” Awn and Skaaiat left without another word, and I sat alone, thinking about Awn and the ancillary. Another Lieutenant would have let it die in the street once it was clear that rehabilitation was out of the question.

 

When the Divine came, she stood for a while and simply stared at the dead ancillary. “I have never seen it before,” she said.

“What?” I asked, genuinely not understanding.

“Blood from an ancillary. From anything Radchaai. Armor, broken.”

“Ah, I see,” I said. Even after so many years, I had to remind myself that our commonplace technology seemed godlike in many provinces. Perhaps if I imagined myself standing by a slain Presger, I could understand her awe.

She pulled herself away from the body and set to work, taking some sort of talisman from her bag: an arm’s length of saffron-yellow cloth, weighted at one end with a cut pink salt crystal set in wire. She swung the salt in arcs and circles around the room, fast enough that I would have considered it reckless, had I not recognized her experience. All the while, she intoned verses in a language that was clearly not Orsian, made all of simple consonant-vowel syllables. Some ancient sacred or liturgical language, I guessed. At the end of the ritual, she opened the ancillary’s mouth and placed several grains of salt inside, from a pouch she carried. Then she knelt before it, said a final couplet, and then called for two junior priests to take the body away.

“What does the ritual do?” I asked, curious to hear about the Orsians’ spiritual beliefs.

“ _ Mnaji _ feast on the  _ tandzari _ of the act of violence,” the Divine said. “They will not eat what is... blessed. I do not know the Radchaai words.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“What gods do you worship, Translator? Certainly Amaat, but the others?”

I described my daily devotions to the spirit images in my room, and named some of the other commonly worshipped spirits: Mémna, Passion, Hanáh, Spirit, Rithál, Wonder, Sengáe, Fortune. Rithál and Sengáe had been absorbed into the worship of Amaat over the last century, but some revivalists held closely to the old names. I was not one of them. I was tempted to tell the Divine about the work of Mata Kaair, the Atheist, but I thought better of it. It was better not to make the Orsians even more suspicious of me.

“Is an ancillary dead, to Ikkt?” I asked. All over the Radch, provincial religions had different ideas on the spirits of the subsumed.

“ _ Dajine mohe  _ is  _ corpse soldiers.  _ A god took the spirit away when Ship took the body.”

I nodded. “Lieutenant Awn hasn’t told me what happened, exactly. To Three.”

“A person in the crowd threw a paving stone. Crowd panicked. One Esk put their armor on and killed five people who resisted.”

“I am so sorry to hear that,” I said. “If there is anything I can do--”

“There is not.”

“I understand.”

“Do you, Translator?” She fixed me with an indignant glare for the briefest instant, then strode out the door.

“I do,” I whispered to the empty house.

 

At dinner, Lieutenant Awn said, “I called Administration again today. They said that we have two shipments of food recorded, successfully delivered. I insisted we don’t, but the adjunct said she had the record right in front of her.”

“I knew Administration could fuck up badly, but not like this,” Skaaiat said.

“Language, Lieutenant,” One Esk said.

“Quite a lot of money in shipping that much food,” I said.

“Suggesting something, Translator?” Skaaiat asked.

I gestured possibility, omens in motion. “You and I know Administration well. It seems improbable that this happened by accident.”

“Quite a bold theft,” Awn said.

“Is it, though?” Skaaiat asked. “Compare Ors to the cities around it. We’re not so big.”

“But that much skel!”

“I don’t think you understand the kind of resources that we move around,” Skaaiat said.

“Who’s we?”

Skaaiat fell silent for a moment. “I… Awn, I just mean that some people have more experience with the scope of trade… I meant--”

“Yeah, I know what you meant,” Awn said.

“But--”

“Forget about it. You think it’s a theft? Check it out. Seven Issa One can handle command for a few days, right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. I’ll follow things up the chain until I find out what’s wrong. Also, I’ll talk to our Captains about keeping my departure quiet.”

“I can talk to Captain Rubran,” Awn said.

“I should do it,” Skaaiat said. “Nothing against you, it’s just that Osck--”

“I get it.”

Skaaiat left the table to make the call, and Awn left to her room without a word. I went to mine as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful JackedofSpades has drawn Translator Kuenr! See their work on my tumblr:  
> http://sylvanauctor.tumblr.com/post/163329353909/the-wonderful-darling-child-tisarwat-drew-my-oc


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuenr's research begins in earnest.

“The flower of justice is peace. The flower of propriety is beauty in thought and action. The flower of benefit is Amaat whole and entire. I am the fountain of propriety overflowing, full with the waters of civilization. My well is truth and my basin is righteousness.” The words spilled out as I got out of bed. A Valskaayan polytheist servant had my black tea, bread, and native peach preserves ready when I entered my dining room. I cast the omens, read their auspicious verses, and sat down to eat as I reviewed the overnight report. Subject 45 had died at 03:07 of withdrawal.

I annotated the report, for the tech medic on night shift:  _ Get toxicology report before I arrive; This one is still promising. _

45, the first subject I had placed on the new Regimen 7 drug cocktail, was the only fatality of the night. Two days ago, it had induced the most receptive mental state of any regimen I had tried. Part of me had known 45 would die, but another part was too faithful in the new regimen not to try it. I marked its file  _ Last resort; use only with intensive rehabilitation.  _ When the toxicology report arrived moments later, I began drafting Regimen 8; a modified 7 with a reduction in the fatally high dosage of xenoambrosine. Hopefully, I would only have to dose the subject during elenchus treatment.

I took the last bites of my bread, drained my tea, and started my walk to work under a brilliant red sunrise. Two ancillaries of  _ Justice of Toren  _ Issa walked with me, a necessary precaution even in this well-secured area. It was a blessing from Amaat that they didn’t sing. I enjoyed the beams of sunrise between the ancient stone buildings in peace. Light streamed through the stained glass of the local temple, setting the colorful illustrated tales alight. When I passed it every morning I could not help feel awed, and deeply mournful that such a marvel of fine art and rugged architecture did not glorify Amaat.

My gaze was on an inane parable when Ship said in two synced voices, “Re-Educator, down, now!”

I dropped to the ground and looked toward where a Valskaayan approached. She was in layperson’s clothes, with wooden prayer beads as her only jewelry, armed only with a tome of scripture bound in red. “Take her alive if you have warrant to shoot,” I said. Ship was under orders not to shoot first.

“Shoot if you want, but you will hear my warning!” she said in shaky Radchaai. “Judgement awaits those who do not serve the God! Take this and read it. You will know!” She wound up to throw the book. Perhaps expecting some weapon inside, Ship shot her in the hand. She yelped in pain.

“Patella,” I said, and Ship crippled her there. She fell to the ground, writhing. “Good. Standard dosage of timetinol, correctives, then put her in suspension until I’ve perfected this formula. If I can break her indoctrination, I can break anyone.” The drugs and correctives would erase any memory or sign that she had ever been traumatized, which would be important for the elenchus treatment. Ship clamped one hand down over her mouth and carried her with us to my facility. We parted ways where they turned down the hall to detention, and I went on to my ward.

“Thank you for the very thorough night report, Medic Taanir,” I said upon arriving.

“Thank you, sir,” Taanir said. “I have your second tea ready.” The large bowl sat by my desk, steaming.

“Wonderful, thank you. I’ll be running simulations on a Regimen 8 at least through lunch. Prepare me a subject for this afternoon?”

“Of course, sir.”

 

Simulations were promising. My computer was not the AI brain of a Justice, fit to monitor so many thousands of ancillaries, but its processing power could handle the broad strokes of a human’s brain functions. Still, life and death were decided in the inscrutable details beneath the AI’s sight, where my intuition took over. I knew Regimen 8 would work.

“Medic Taanir, is my subject ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Vitals baseline?”

“Established for 30 minutes. Normal for age and stress.”

“Excellent. I’ll administer the dosage.”

 

I was separated from the subject by one-way mirrored glass. She lay on my table, arms and legs outstretched and bound, connected by microtubes to the drug reservoirs. She cursed me in Delsig. I activated my implants, and her vitals appeared in my vision, every twitch of muscle and measure of hormone visible to me at a thought. Only a ship, attending its ancillary, exceeded me in detail of knowledge. I sent the thought that I would speak to her, and my speakers readied.

“Subject 46, I’m going to ask a number of questions, do you understand?” I said, in Delsig.

“Go to Hell, Radchaai!” she said. As expected.

“What is the sum of three and two?”

“You will burn!”

I began the flow of drugs: aatrine and  _ coleoptera elucidans  _ pheromone, known to its street sellers as kef. “What is the sum of three and two?”

“A curse on Amaat.” I saw her heart and respiration rates drop.

“What is the sum of three and two?”

“And a plague on every Radchaai house,” she mumbled.

“What is the sum of three and two?” I asked.

“Five,” she said. I gave her a little shot of xenoambrosine and watched it set off little lights in the pleasure centers of her brain.

“What is the sum of eight and four?” I asked.

“Twelve.” Pleasure shot.

“One and nine.” 

“Ten.” Pleasure shot, and on and on until her brain’s responses dulled.

“Three hundred twenty, and seven hundred sixty one.”

“One thousand ninety one!” she said. Incorrect, so I gave her a half dose.

“The distance from Vestris Cor to Vestris Os.”

I watched the panic seize her brain. “I don’t know that!”

I gave her a flood of xenoambrosine like she had never had, lighting an inferno like the forests of Garsedd in her pleasure centers. "Medic Taanir, monitor this one closely. If she survives 48 hours withdrawn, we can try Regimen 8 in full elenchus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not any sort of medical professional, so rather than trying to come up with actual re-education drugs I combined Radchaai and Greek roots until spellcheck gave me a red line. Xenoambrosine is supposed to mean something like “strange food of the gods chemical.” Timetinol combines the Radchaai theophoric prefix Ti- with the name of the goddess Met, as in this blog post by AL: [https://annleckie.tumblr.com/post/143579421866/hello-ive-inhaled-all-your-radch-books-recently]
> 
> Tea: Irish Breakfast.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Skaaiat investigates the food distribution in Kould Ves.

Skaaiat sent a report daily, which in total told the story of the misappropriated food. She went first to the transplanted Radchaai in Kould Ves who would recognize the name of Awer, and requested a room from the cousin of a client of a client. She stayed in the home, operating by bidding servants or friends to bring news, being ever careful to prevent even the whispered rumor of her presence. With the help of her client, she unwove the subtle web of nervous mistakes and ill-informed coverups, taking their threads and tying them back together into a tangled net to catch the embezzler. Her last report said that she had tracked down a nearly certain suspect, a reportedly unsteady client of Osck, and she intended to pay her a social call on the pretense of some family relation. The shock of it, she hoped, would drive the embezzler to trip over the details of her lies so much that her frenzied covering would be easy to spot.

Instead, an hour after Skaaiat had intended to meet the thieving client, we received an alert from the hospital in Kould Ves, alerting us to Skaaiat’s critical condition after an attack with an improvised crossbow.

“Tell Skaaiat I’m on my way,” Awn said, standing up from her chair.

“Lieutenant, I must remind you that procedure requires a lieutenant to be present in the city at all times,” Ship said.

“Rouse Seven Issa One then, tell her that she has the command,” Awn snapped. “Ready the flyer.”

“Except in cases of immediate danger to the ship or jurisdiction at large, only a Captain or higher may promote a decade senior to Lieutenant,” Ship said. “However, I have no record of Reeducator Kuenr being formally removed of rank.”

“What?” Awn and I said.

“After serving as a reeducator with me, Translator Kuenr served briefly as the ship’s medic on  _ Justice of Memna.  _ I have the transfer logs for your review, and Captain Peraain’s recommendation.”

“And a Medic is technically a Lieutenant,” Awn breathed. “Kuenr, Ors is under your command for paperwork purposes. If you need anything… Well, I trust Ship with my life. You should too.” She took off out the door, and a moment later, the flyer roared toward Kould Ves.

“Thank you, Translator,” Ship said.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Didn’t you want her to stay?”

“I must remind the Lieutenant if I believe she is about to break procedure,” Ship said. “My Lord forbids otherwise. However, I wanted her to go.”

“Skaaiat is a favorite, then,” I said. I thought that ships only had favorites of their own officers, but I could imagine exceptions.

“No.” Ship sent me a brief image of the state of Lieutenant Awn’s brain activity. I read it with a bit more difficulty than I would have ninety years ago on Valskaay, but it was clear. Among the stress hormones and flashes of electrical activity, there was the signature of Awn’s fear for Skaaiat beyond concern for a mere colleague.

“Ah. That was for Awn’s peace of mind.”

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Did I accidentally drop a non-Radchaai pronoun? Please don't be afraid to tell me.


End file.
